


Like it's Christmas in the room

by leigh57



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2857607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh57/pseuds/leigh57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carol nodded and went into the kitchen before she let the tears fill her eyes. After she stood by the sink for a few minutes, she poured herself an entire glass of water, drank it down in a few gulps, and then rummaged through the miscellaneous drawer for a piece of paper and a pen. On the paper she just wrote, <i>I have no idea how to thank you. ~C</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like it's Christmas in the room

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU I wrote for the Caryler secret Santa challenge on tumblr. I don't usually do AUs, so it's unfamiliar territory for me. The Daryl in this story is different from the Daryl on the show in some ways, mainly because my backstory headcanon for this AU is that while he still grew up in a horrible, abusive home, he's made his way out of that situation and managed to create a successful life for himself.
> 
> There are also various mentions of domestic abuse in this story. If that bothers you, please do not read further.
> 
> The title is taken from the lovely Sufjan Stevens song, "Christmas in the Room."

Daryl moved into the small A-frame next door on a sweltering mid-August Monday, the kind of day when it’s 83 degrees by 7:30 a.m. and so humid that all the doors stick shut. It was Sophia’s first day of third grade (Carol snapped her picture — her baby all dressed up in the maroon skirt and white blouse she’d spent half an hour choosing the night before, her hair tied back in a matching maroon ribbon and her new dark grey backpack hitched over her shoulders), and in the chaos of trying to make sure that Sophia had everything she needed, Carol forgot to make Ed’s lunch.

The results were predictable.

She noticed the moving truck on her way to the kitchen to get some ice for the welts that were rapidly forming on her stomach and ribs, a gift from the buckle of Ed’s belt. Shoving aside her tears in impatient irritation, she paused for a moment to observe the moving guys carefully rolling what looked like a very expensive baby grand piano down the ramp of the van.

Interesting.

She blew her nose, splashed her face with cold water, and got her ice, holding it to her midsection with her left hand while she used her right to flick through the wooden recipe box on the counter, trying to find a nice boring casserole that pretty much anyone was guaranteed to like.

_________________________

Ed was usually a master at not leaving visible marks, but this time he’d been so angry that she came away with a deep purple bruise on her neck, more or less in the shape of a handprint. Carol didn’t even see it until she went to the bathroom to wash her hands after finishing the baked ziti and sticking it in the oven.

She sighed, wondering how weird it would look to wind a scarf around her neck in the middle of August. But she’d made those peanut butter cookies with the Hershey kisses in the middle and the ziti, so she had to take it over.

She grabbed some lip gloss, found the lightest scarf in her drawer, and took a final glance in the mirror to make sure her eyes weren’t red and all the bruises were carefully covered.

_________________________

She rang the doorbell and then stood there, sweating in the early afternoon sun and nervously wiggling her toes against the bottom of her sandals. After a moment she heard a deep, “One second!” and the sound of footsteps. The door swung open and she was staring right into the vibrant blue eyes of a man somewhere around her own age, wearing a black t-shirt and faded Levis with threadbare knees that looked as if they were about to give out.

"Sorry," he said, glancing behind him at the chaos of boxes and packing material. "I was upstairs."

She smiled uncertainly. “Please, don’t apologize. I just wanted to bring you something for dinner in case you haven’t had time to unpack your kitchen stuff.” She extended the casserole dish with the small plate of cookies perched precariously on top. “I’m Carol Peletier. We live next door.” She tilted her head to the right, in case he wasn’t sure which direction she meant.

He took the dish from her hands and grinned. “I’m Daryl Dixon.” His eyes dropped to the food and then flicked back to her face. “Wow, thank you.”

She shrugged, even more self-conscious than she usually was in these situations, although she couldn’t figure out why. “I hope you like ziti. All you have to do is cook it for about fifteen more minutes at 350 and it should be ready to go.”

He shifted, his bare foot toying with the edge of the deep blue welcome mat. “It sounds great. Guarantee you it’s better than the boxed macaroni I’ll probably be eating for a week.”

She twisted her index fingers together and gave him a quick half-smile. “I’ll let you get back to your unpacking. Welcome to the neighborhood.” She fought the urge to ask him whether he was all on his own; she hadn’t seen anyone else all day, but that didn’t have to mean anything.

"I’ll bring your dish right back. Promise."

"No rush at all," she replied. "Nice to meet you!"

She was halfway down the sidewalk when she heard him say, “You too, Ms. Peletier.”

He’d pronounced her last name correctly after hearing it once. Damn. “Just Carol,” she called over her shoulder and hurried back toward her own front door, even though it was still at least an hour before Sophia got off the bus.

_________________________

Daryl brought the dish back that night, when she was at the table helping Sophia finish her math homework and Ed was already working on his third Coors Light. She jumped at the knock and said quickly, “I’ll get it.” Fortunately, Ed had some sports show on and was apparently not motivated enough to object.

When she opened the door, Daryl smiled politely (almost shyly, or maybe she made that part up) and handed her the dish. “Thank you, seriously. That was probably the best meal I’ve had in months.”

"Who’s at the goddamn door?" Ed yelled from the living room, his words already slurring a touch.

"It’s just Mrs. Jerome bringing back the knitting needles she borrowed," Carol called back, taking the calculated risk that Ed would be too involved in his sports recap to get up and verify that she was telling the truth. She looked down at the wood grain of the entryway floor and said very quietly, "Sorry. He’s um … he’s had a couple too many beers and it’s easier to just-"

The smile slid from Daryl’s face. “I get it. Trust me.” There was a strange edge to his words that made her spine feel funny.

"I’m glad you enjoyed the ziti. And I hope you like the neighborhood."

Daryl tilted his head in the general direction Ed’s voice had come from. “If you need anything-“

Carol could feel the flush rising in her cheeks, the quiet burning shame that lived inside her twisting and pressing everywhere. “I’m fine. But thank you.” She consciously made her voice more clipped and dismissive. “Have a nice night.”

Picking up her signals without missing a beat, Daryl dipped his head politely. “Yeah. You, too.”

She shut the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, waiting for her breathing to settle down and the heat in her face to diminish. After a second she heard Sophia say, “Mom, can you check to see if this one’s right?” and she walked back to the table, hands curled into tense tight spheres.

_________________________

The next time she saw him was at the Davidson’s Labor Day party. She was standing near the snack table with a small group of women from the neighborhood, hiding from the relentless sun under the temporary tarp and sipping absently at the excessively sweet Blue Hurricane an already half-drunk Mike Davidson had mixed for her.

"Oh god," Alicia Turner whispered, her glance darting towards Daryl and then instantly back to the carrot stick in her hand. "He’s here. Carol, have you seen this guy? He was working on his truck a couple days ago when I walked by with the dog. He’s gorgeous. Those muscles, holy shit.”

"I know," murmured Lacey Bennet, sucking down another gulp of what had to be her third drink. "And he plays the piano. You’re next door, Carol. You must have heard him. It sounds like a goddamn concert!"

Of course Carol had heard him. He worked swing shift, which meant that he left for work right around the time Carol was putting Sophia’s snack on a plate so that it would be ready right when she got off the bus. Every day, sometime around ten or eleven, he started practicing. And Lacey was absolutely right — he was amazing. Carol didn’t know a lot about music, but to her he sounded like the pianists on the jazz piano radio station she sometimes turned on while she folded laundry.

"Carol." Christine Tavish elbowed her in the forearm, jostling Carol’s drink. "Don’t you think he’s off-the-charts hot? Nobody else in this neighborhood looks that good, for damn certain."

Carol carefully schooled her face into complete neutrality before she glanced at Christine. “Honestly, I haven’t noticed him. He’s really quiet. Keeps to himself.” She wasn’t sure where Ed was, but she was sure that he and the boys were already on their fourth or fifth Jack and Coke while they manned the grill and talked about football or whatever inane subject they were discussing.

"Well something’s wrong with you," Alicia announced, rolling her eyes. "Wish he lived next door to me.”

"I’m gonna go check on Sophia." Carol sighed at the bead of sweat she could feel rolling down between her boobs and walked toward the trampoline where the kids were playing. Her drink let off sweaty condensation against her palm, and she had the eerie sense that Daryl’s eyes were on her as she walked, but she kept her face straight forward, moving with purpose.

In the back of her mind, she could hear that one song he played, the one that reminded her of standing at the edge of the ocean when she was a little girl, feeling the cool swish of the water on her toes and the fresh whip of the wind on her face.

The one that made her stop whatever she was doing and close her eyes to listen and feel.

The one that let her be some other place for a while.

_________________________

A few days before Halloween, she jammed her grocery list into her purse, threw the recyclable bags into the trunk of her aging Focus, buckled herself in, and turned the key in the ignition.

Nothing. Not even a rumble. Biting the inside of her lip and cursing under her breath, she tried again.

Totally dead. She leaned her head against the steering wheel, tears of irritated frustration pricking the edges of her eyes, allowing herself a second to be pissed off before she tried to figure out what to do.

(She certainly couldn’t call Ed at work, but he’d be mad as hell if he got home and she hadn’t made the meal he’d requested, because some asshole he’d known in high school was in town and Ed had invited him over for dinner, trying to do some networking or something.)

The knock on her window startled her almost out of her skin. She looked up to see Daryl standing by the car in a faded navy Henley that made his eyes look even bluer. She opened the car door and said, like a complete idiot, “It won’t start.”

He mastered the quirk that appeared at the edge of his mouth with impressive speed and replied only, “Yeah. I see that. Why don’t you let me have a look under the hood?”

Carol couldn’t help the apprehensive glance she took around the area, even though it was only a little after nine and Ed wouldn’t be home for hours.

"I’ll be really quick," Daryl said quietly, and then she felt even more awful and unappreciative.

"No, it’s fine. Thank you so much." She pushed the button to pop the hood and got out of the car, pulling the edges of her jacket around her to hide from the unseasonably cool air that had settled in over the past few days.

"It’s just the battery," said Daryl after a couple minutes, wiping his fingers on a sandy brown towel he’d apparently brought with him in anticipation of needing it.

"Shit," she whispered before she could stop herself. "I mean, I’m sorry. I didn’t-"

He was just looking at her, a curious and almost … sad expression in his eyes. “You don’t gotta apologize for bein’ frustrated.” He rubbed a little more grease off the edge of his knuckle. “Look, I have a battery in my garage that will work. It’ll take me ten minutes, if that.”

"I couldn’t let you do that."

"Why not? You’ve obviously got someplace to be."

She swallowed, unnerved by the way he didn’t tiptoe around things. “Can I at least pay you?”

He shook his head and grinned. “I’d very much like to say no, but I’m guessing that if I do, you’ll turn me down. Am I right?”

She nodded, a tiny smile flitting at the corners of her mouth even though she tried to master it.

"Fine then. It cost me eighty bucks."

She opened her wallet and pulled out four crisp twenties, almost all of the money she’d gotten at the ATM yesterday. She’d have to replace it with the secret stash she had in the cupboard behind the flour canister, but she wasn’t gonna worry about that now. When she held the money out to Daryl, he hesitated, but finally reached out and took it, rolling his eyes. “I’ll go grab that battery,” he said. “Why don’t you go inside and get a different coat while you’re waiting? You look like you’re freezing.”

He took off toward his garage with her staring at the muscles of his shoulders, wondering why this near-stranger seemed to care a lot more about her comfort than her own husband did.

_________________________

One morning when she was headed out to grab the mail, Carol opened the door to find a small foil-wrapped plate sitting on the fuzzy green welcome mat. There was a note in surprisingly neat print.

_Thought I’d make cookies the other day, but I accidentally doubled the recipe. They’re really good though — pumpkin spice — so I thought you and Sophia might like them. I know you’ll find this before he gets home. I put them on a paper plate so you don’t have to bring it back. ~Daryl_

She grabbed the plate and pulled it inside, pulling off the foil with childishly eager hands. The smell of the cookies alone made her mouth water, and when she took a bite, she thought she might have briefly entered heaven.

She ate four for breakfast and stashed the rest in a Ziploc way at the back of a drawer Ed never opened. Then she burned the note with the match she’d used to light the Apple Spice candle she got at the grocery store the day before and decided to order some new lipstick.

_________________________

It started out like the bad episodes always did, a series of small things that put Ed on edge, followed by the one event — big or small — that sent him over.

He’d clipped a curb on the way home from work and was worried about his precious Charger’s alignment. His boss had announced that everyone would have to take a week off without pay or else someone would have to be laid off. And when he walked in the door, Sophia still had all her school stuff spread out over the table, a table Ed had been expecting to be set for the dinner that would naturally be appearing at any moment.

(Carol had it all in the oven. It was just that Sophia had come home from school crying over a fight with her best friend and angry over getting second place in the shuttle run, and Carol had lost track of time trying to calm her down and talk her back into smiling, into enjoying the little peanut butter and jelly Ritz cracker sandwiches Carol had made for her as an end of the week treat.)

The second Ed started yelling, Sophia vanished upstairs, as she always did.

"Can’t even have the fucking dinner on when I get home?" he raged, and his fist connected with her cheekbone so quickly that it surprised even her. She realized, as her head snapped back, that He doesn’t usually hit me in the face was probably a weird thought to have right in that moment, but whatever.

She swallowed against the pain that blossomed in her skull and said quietly, “I can have it ready within ten minutes.”

"I don’t want it in ten minutes. I want it to be fucking ready when I get home." He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her against the wall, her head slamming the surface with a thud.

She tried to breathe. “I can get you a snack and a beer if you sit down. There’s lots of-“

"Why don’t you just shut the fuck UP?" he screamed, and she could feel him pulling her, pushing and shoving until she was on the floor and he was on top of her, his hands on both sides of her head, crushing grip on her temples. It was only then that she realized what he was going to do. He was going to smash the back of her head into the floor until … well until he felt like stopping.

He lifted her head up and she just shut her eyes, waiting for the impact.

It didn’t come.

Instead, Ed’s body flew in a puzzling arc across the room, his head connecting with the table, a horrible noise before he crumpled to the floor. Daryl, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, straddled Ed before he could move and brought his fist repeatedly down on Ed’s face.

Carol was mute and paralyzed for about half a second before she realized that if she did nothing, Daryl was likely to kill Ed.

"Daryl, stop," she whispered, somehow knowing that he’d hear her even though her voice barely worked. "He’s not worth it. Don’t."

Daryl’s fist stopped inches away from Ed’s face and he just froze, gasping in huge gulps of air, his whole body trembling. Without even looking at her, he reached into the pocket of his jeans and yanked out his phone. She watched him dial as if the whole thing might have been on TV, some nightmare horror show happening to someone else. When Daryl’s spoke, his voice was low and calm, but there was a shaky vibration to it. “Yes, I’d like to report an assault.” There was a pause. “The situation’s under control, but there’s a man who needs medical assistance.”

He disconnected and took one more glance at Ed’s now unconscious body before he looked up at her. The expression in his eyes was almost as terrifying as Ed’s face had been, save that it was different in some unquantifiable way.

And she knew, somehow, that he was incapable of hurting her.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

She wondered what her face looked like. “I’m okay. I just-“

"I’ll make sure he doesn’t move. Why don’t you check on Sophia?"

Carol opened her mouth to say something else, changed her mind, and closed it again. She merely nodded and went up the stairs, praying that her face didn’t look bad enough that she’d be more frightening than comforting to her daughter.

When the police arrived about ten minutes later, Ed was already beginning to regain consciousness. He groaned and touched his battered face. “The fuck did you do to me, asshole?” he spat, staring up at Daryl. He turned his head toward the cop standing closest to him. “This fuckhead came into my house and beat the shit out of me.”

"That’s not quite the story we heard," said the other cop, moving into Ed’s field of vision as she fingered her weapon. She glanced toward Carol, who was standing near the wall now, Sophia folded into her arms. Carol could feel Sophia’s shoulders shaking, but she wasn’t making any sound. "Ma’am, we’ll take him in and book him. But I’m pretty sure you know how this works if you choose not to press charges."

Carol could feel tears sliding down her face, even though she was using everything in her arsenal to stop them. She looked at Daryl, who stood by the door, holding a cloth over the bloody knuckles of his right hand. He just stared at her, but she could hear his thoughts as clearly as if he’d been monologuing for ten minutes.

She cleared her throat and held Sophia tighter. “I’m pressing charges this time,” she said, and even though her entire body began to shake as the words slipped from her lips, she wasn’t sure any other sentence had ever felt that good rolling off her tongue and out into the air, where it was finally a live thing, with power of its own.

________________

Ed went to prison a couple counties away, and Carol found herself wondering, again and again, why she hadn’t had the courage to take the final step earlier.

(She knew why. There were so many reasons. But still, it was so hard to forgive herself now that she saw the difference in Sophia.)

After a couple weeks, Sophia stopped flinching at every unexpected noise. She chattered during dinner. She quietly requested foods that Ed would never have dreamed of eating, and laughed in the kitchen while she helped Carol make them. She hummed while she did her homework, a habit Ed had always flipped out over. The week after Thanksgiving, she asked if she could have a friend over to spend the night, and Carol realized — with a rush of unexpected tears — that her little girl had never once even considered having a sleepover until now.

She started studying piano with Daryl.

It happened by accident, Sophia out riding her bike in the driveway one Saturday afternoon, talking to Daryl while he tinkered with something on his truck. And suddenly Sophia was rushing into the house, yelling, “Mom! Mom! Daryl says he wants to teach me piano. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to take lessons?” (Of course Carol knew. She’d wanted it for Sophia since she was five, but Ed scoffed and said he wasn’t paying for that bullshit, that Sophia could learn whatever they taught her in school.)

"Honey, I don’t have money to pay Daryl to teach you, so I think-"

"He said you’d say that, and he said he doesn’t want you to pay him. He just wants to teach me." Sophia’s eyes were lit up, throwing off sparks of excitement and joy, and she couldn’t even keep still, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

Carol bit her lip and sighed. “I’ll go talk to him.”

(It turned out exactly as she had expected. His quiet, _I know you can’t afford to pay me, but you don’t understand. I’m all by myself here. I’d love to teach her a couple times a week. You’d be doing me a favor._ )

Of course Sophia loved it, came home humming the songs she was learning. As it got on toward Christmas, the humming went from elementary Beethoven tunes to “O Holy Night” and “Jingle Bell Rock.”

And one afternoon a package arrived, crisp knock on the front door because the FedEx lady needed someone to sign for it. It was a long, thin box addressed to Sophia Peletier, and Carol was entirely mystified.

When Sophia got home from school, she opened it to discover a small electric piano, but one with all the bells and whistles that would let her add cool beats and change tones like she loved to do on the one at school.

"We can’t keep this!” Carol exclaimed.

Sophia looked at her mom for a long moment, her expression pensive. “You’ll hurt his feelings so much if you try to give it back.” She twisted a piece of hair around her finger. “I’ll practice, Mom. I’ll make it worth it to him that he gave it to me. I promise.”

Carol nodded and went into the kitchen before she let the tears fill her eyes. After she stood by the sink for a few minutes, she poured herself an entire glass of water, drank it down in a few gulps, and then rummaged through the miscellaneous drawer for a piece of paper and a pen. On the paper she just wrote, _I have no idea how to thank you. ~C._

She slipped it under his door after she watched him leave for work the following afternoon.

_________________________

Carol had no clue what gave her the courage to do it, but three days before Christmas she found herself on Daryl’s doorstep, jamming her finger into the doorbell before she lost her nerve entirely. She shivered in the darkness, but she was smart enough to know it had to be more jitters than chill.

Daryl swung the door open and a warm smile immediately transformed his face. “Hey, this is a nice surprise. I thought probably you were those people who really want me to read the Bible.”

"I was wondering if you’d like to have Christmas Eve dinner with Sophia and me," she blurted out in a jumble of words. "It won’t be anything fancy. Just some soup, cheese and crackers, veggie plate, stuff like that."

She couldn’t read the look that came across Daryl’s face at all, and the fact that he had paused for even a second without answering sent her into immediate panic mode. “I mean god, I’m sorry. Probably you have a girlfriend or something and I’m just being incredibly awkward.” She coughed. “Or a boyfriend. Either way. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to ask you out or anything, just so you know. I just thought you’d maybe be by yourself, but god, look at you. That’s a really stupid idea, right?”

"Stop." Daryl stepped forward and touched her arm, fingers warm on the skin of her wrist, and this time his eyes were twinkling. "Give me a chance to say a sentence here?"

Digging her fingers into her palms, she nodded, not trusting that her voice wouldn’t sound weird or strained.

"I don’t have a girlfriend, and girlfriends are my friends of choice. Haven’t for almost a year. I’d love to join you and Soph." (Her heart melted a little at his use of the nickname — clearly something the two of them had established during lessons — given that Sophia didn’t let just anyone call her that.) "And can I tell you something else?"

Convinced her face had to be flaming red by now, Carol managed to say, “Sure.”

"I’d be incredibly flattered if you were asking me out on a date." His eyes scanned her face. "I’m not asking you to ask me out on a date. Shit. I’m only saying that if you were, I’d unquestionably say yes.”

"Really?" The word was out of her mouth before her filter could kick in, and she stood there wondering exactly how much more of an idiot she planned to make of herself before she could extricate herself from this conversation.

"Really." He hit her with what had to be the first full-blown smile she’d ever seen from him, and she felt her knees go a little funny, her stomach do a weird flippy thing.

"Okay well, we’ll see you Christmas Eve then. Is um. Six good?"

"Six is perfect. What can I bring?"

"Oh you don’t need to bring anything."

"I’d really like to," he said, fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Maybe a bottle of wine then?"

"Yep. Red or white? And don’t say that I get to choose, because I like both."

It almost ached inside, the contrast between this man and what she was used to, the fact that he genuinely wanted to buy the wine she wanted. She forced herself to swallow her usual response and said softly, “Red. Red’s my favorite. Especially Shiraz.”

"Red’s my favorite, too," he replied, tossing her another grin as he shut the door behind him.

_________________________

Carol walked into the living room to find Daryl sitting on the floor, leaning back against the couch and watching the lights on the tree. “That took a longer than I expected,” she said with a rueful grin. “She’s impossible to get into bed on Christmas Eve.”

"What kid isn’t?" he asked.

"You’re right." She glanced toward the kitchen. "Would you like some more wine?"

"Definitely. Why don’t you just bring the bottle out here and join me?"

She went into the kitchen and grabbed some fresh glasses, pausing in front of the sink to breathe deeply three times and try to figure out why the hell she was so nervous and jittery about the thought of sitting next to him in her living room without Sophia as a conversational buffer. Something about him just made her feel … god she couldn’t figure out the word. Sort of like the way it used to feel standing at the edge of the high dive, looking down at the water and knowing it would feel probably feel so amazing to hit the water when she jumped, but still hesitating, toes curled, knees locked.

She exhaled and went back into the living room, joining him on the floor instead of sitting on the couch. It was dark save the tree lights, and she couldn’t help smiling at how much more relaxed this Christmas Eve had been since … a really long time.

She handed the wine to Daryl and let him pour, and for a few minutes they sat there in reasonably easy silence, sipping wine and watching the tree.

And then, out of nowhere, he said, “Do you wanna know why I don’t have a girlfriend?”

Her head was a little fuzzy from the wine, but she blinked at him, trying to focus. “Well, if you wanna tell me, but it’s none of my business and-“

"You’re kind of wrong about that," he said, his voice low, and she could feel a strange something coming off him in waves, something that had been there in tiny flickers before but was now a full-on high beam.

"About what?"

"That it’s not your business." He cleared his throat and looked straight at her. "I don’t have a girlfriend because I’m waiting."

She crinkled her forehead, confused. “Waiting for what?”

"You."

He said it like it was the most obvious answer in the world, like no other word coming out of his mouth could possibly have made sense.

She felt like it was hard to breathe, like the air in the room had magically morphed into part water. “Daryl-“

"You don’t have to say anything about it now. Or I mean, obviously you can tell me to piss off and you’d rather date a serial killer. I just thought I should be straight with you, because probably a lot of people in your life haven’t been."

A warm flush crept up through her chest, slipping up her neck and into her cheeks and ears. “I’d love it if you asked me out,” she whispered, surveying the scar on the edge of his wrist, looking anywhere but into his face.

He was breathing so loudly she could hear him. “That’s good to know,” he said, and he reached for her hand, closing his fingers around hers and holding on.

Not too tight.

Just right.

Everything inside her was spinning, and probably some of that she could write off to the wine, but not all of it. After a long, quiet pause, during which she listened to the thrum of the heater, the soft piano music she’d put on her iPod, and the sound of her own heart thudding in her ears, she gathered every once of courage inside her and said, her voice catching on a few of the syllables, “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

His eyes instantly snapped to hers, and he made a funny noise in his throat that might have been a combination of a cough and a laugh. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you knocked on my door last August. So I’d kiss you back.”

She didn’t let herself think. She was tired of thinking anyway, of analyzing everything, of trying to weigh the infinite possible consequences of every last choice. She took a deep breath, closed the tiny distance between them, and touched his lips with hers.

He sucked in a surprised gasp but didn’t move, letting her have control of everything that was happening. And she left herself get lost, the softness of his lips on hers, the erotic jolt of his tongue as it softly touched hers and soothed over her lips before slipping into her mouth, the way his breathing went erratic in about ten seconds (so did hers), the feel of his strong hands as they gripped her arms and tried to keep the situation under control.

"Carol," he whispered, using her shoulders to pull her back, just a little.

Panting, she managed, “I know. I should stop. I don’t really know how to-” One more breath. “Do this.”

Half a laugh rumbled form his chest. “Oh, I think you know exactly how to do this.”

"Will you stay here tonight" she blurted out, still looking at his lips even though she was trying hard not to.

His eyes widened. “I don’t think-“

"Not like that," she said with a grin. "Although give me another half a glass of wine." She cleared her throat, pushing herself back a little on the floor as if maybe distance from his body would make her more rational. "Just to sleep on the couch. I could make you breakfast in the morning. Coffee and … whatever."

He was quiet, and as the seconds stretched, she felt more and more convinced that he would get up and run out the door. But then he leaned in and kissed her again, so gently this time, not asking for anything, and said against her lips, “That sounds amazing.”

"Good. I’ll go grab you a sheet and a quilt." She got up and moved quickly toward the stairs before she could change her mind.

_________________________

She couldn’t sleep.

She tried every position she knew. Stomach, back, left side, right side, rearranging her legs, hands under the pillow, hands under her thighs, hands flopping all over grabbing the covers and rearranging them.

After a couple hours she gave up, went downstairs to the kitchen to pour herself a cold glass of water, and wandered into the living room where Daryl was now passed out on the couch.

She watched him for a minute, taking in the quiet relaxation of his face and the slow rhythm of his breathing. Then, before she lost her initiative, she padded over, lifted up his arm, and scooted herself under it on the oversized couch.

Daryl started a little, and she could see his eyes blinking blearily in the near-darkness. “Hey. You okay?” he asked, his voice raspy with sleep.

She nodded, scooting closer. “Just couldn’t sleep. I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind if I joined you.”

He pushed himself further into the cushions at the back of the couch and pressed his face into her neck. “I don’t mind at all. I was a little cold anyway.” He wrapped an arm around her stomach and squished her closer. “D’you have enough room?”

"More than enough," she mumbled, already so sleepy from the warmth of his body and the rumble of his words.

"Good. Go to sleep then." He kissed the edge of her jaw and within a minute, his breathing was evening out again, his body relaxing into sleep. She blinked her eyes open to look at the lights on the tree, blurring and making shiny halos in her sleepy vision.

And she didn’t even try to sleep. She just felt the weight of Daryl’s arm over her ribs and the quiet comfort of his heart beating against her back and thought about how tomorrow, when Sophia came downstairs bouncing off the walls with enthusiasm to get Christmas started, for the first time in years she wouldn’t have to fake a smile or fabricate Christmas enthusiasm.

It would all be real.

Her last remotely coherent thought was that Daryl’s cologne smelled so good, and she should ask him what it was and buy him something like twelve bottles.

Because she realized, wrapped up on the couch with his body so close to hers, that this particular scent reminded her of every single moment with him, from the second he’d opened the door to find her standing there with ziti and cookies until now, when she was this close to asleep with him on her living room couch.

And she wanted that smell forever.


End file.
